


Forever – is composed of Nows –

by pikasafire



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, M/M, Murder Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikasafire/pseuds/pikasafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The teacup has shattered. The time streams split, hinged on a series of moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever – is composed of Nows –

The teacup has shattered. The time streams split, hinged on a series of moments:

Will's feet are cemented to the floor, paralysed by fear and doubt and Hannibal's reaching his hand out, a gentle caress on Will's cheek and Will is stuck by the knowledge that _Hannibal knows_ and he is certainly going to die.

Hannibal's not supposed to be here, it's not how it goes. He's supposed to be free. In jail. Dead. Alive.

Will doesn't know what he wants but he's not leaving this house in one piece and he's not sure what's worse.

Gutting Hannibal or being gutted?

He stands. He shakes. Time stops, the infernal ticking silenced for an instant, hovering on the edge of the next moment, time stretches out infinite and terrifying, poised on the second that Hannibal's knife slides into his body. Fire and agonising, searing pain. Meaningless noises pass his lips. Will's fingers clench reflexively, clutching desperate to Hannibal's shoulders, tugging at bloodied fabric and Hannibal pulls him close. He smells like blood and expensive cologne and red wine and Will buries his face in Hannibal's neck, his breaths gasped and choked. "A place was made for Abigail in your world. Do you understand? A place was made for all of us, together." Will shakes his head, he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand anything. Abigail's alive and Alana's dying, Jack's dying, _he's_ dying, slow and painful and exactly what he deserves. "I wanted to surprise you. And you. You wanted to surprise me."

He falls, gently, Hannibal easing his body to the ground, “I let you know me. See me. I gave you a rare gift but you didn’t want it. You would deny me my life.” and Will clutches at his stomach, tries to keep his insides where they belong and there is so much blood, he knows he's going to die here. 

“Not your life.” 

“My freedom then, you would take that from me. Confine me to a prison cell. Do you believe you could change me the way I’ve changed you?”

“I already did.” And even as the words leave his mouth, even as he sees Hannibal pause and consider and the timestream spreads in front of him like the pool of blood that surrounds him and he knows he’s just bought himself a death sentence. 

“Fate and circumstance have returned us to this moment when the teacup shatters. I forgive you, Will. Will you forgive me?” His heart stutters in his chest, perhaps its blood loss, perhaps it the abrupt, awful knowledge that the death sentence is not his, causing the death of his daughter for a second time. “Abigail, come to me.” 

_Abigail_. “Oh no, don’t. Oh God.” She's next and Will turns his head, _runrunrun_ but he can't force the words from his mouth and he knows she has nowhere to go. She's wide eyed and panicked like a deer in headlights, destruction right in front of her and beckoning her forward and she goes, of course she does, slipping her hand into his. A deal with the devil and Will can see in her eyes that she knows what’s going to happen. What choice does she have?

"No, no, no-" it's hoarse but there. How long has she been here, how many times has he been here for dinner not knowing that she was in the house. Perhaps only a room away. Does she know what he's done. "God."

The knife slow and steady across her throat, sending arcs of blood over his face and he's sobbing, voice weak, trying to crawl forward, trying to hold his stomach together. What has he done? Everyone's cards are on the table and Will is seeing every stupid move he made, every failed possibility, every avenue he _should_ have taken. He gambled and he lost.

He squeezes his eyes shut, even as Hannibal leans over him, his eyes filled with tears. “You can make it all go away. Put your head back. Close your eyes. Wade into the quiet of the stream.”

Time splits and reverses. He can put it back together.

It was the dinner. Hannibal knew then and Will is so stupid for not seeing it.

There’s a way to fix it. 

*

Dinner. The remains of Randall Tier spread cut and medium rare on his plate, artfully organised into a feast for a fledgeling cannibal.

"We could disappear now." Hannibal says, his eyes look black in the dim lighting of the room, his face carefully blank. "Tonight."

There's the warning alarms going off in Will's head but he's arrogant and so sure of his own intelligence. Hannibal can't know, _doesn't_ know and Will ignores the crawling sensation over his skin and schools his face into an expression of quiet curiosity, waiting for Hannibal to continue. He takes a bite of misguided beast.

"Feed your dogs and leave a note for Alana," Hannibal says and there's an edge in his voice, an odd sense of desperation that is thinly veiled beneath his words, "And never see her or Jack again." A micro smile, "Almost polite."

Will's not sure what to say. This isn't how it goes. This isn't what Hannibal wants and he's not sure what's happening and so he smiles, "This would be our last supper." He says. Judas or Jesus, Will can't tell but one of them will be crucified by the end of it.

Unless. Unless...

He knows. Will doesn't know how but Hannibal _knows_ and he reads between the lines, brain overheated and running off adrenaline and Hannibal still speaking.

"I don't need a sacrifice. Do you?"

And Will lets the words tumble with the knowledge that there's no real choice to save Jack. To save himself. To save Hannibal. "No," Will says, "I don't."

The smile he gets is genuine and Will hadn't noticed how tense Hannibal was until his shoulders have loosened. "Let us finish eating first. There is always time for good food." There's love in his voice and Will has no idea what he's just _done_.

He's catching the Ripper

(Being caught by the Ripper)

They do the dishes - pointless, as far as Will's concerned - and Hannibal turns, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, a knife in his hand and Will's hit with déjà vu, knowledge of another timeline stretching before him and his breathing stutters in his chest. Hannibal looks down at the knife, over at Will. "I am thankful I didn't have to use this." The words stretch between them, Hannibal's acknowledgement of Will's almost betrayal stings more than it should. Hannibal reaches out, his hand cool and dry on the side of Will's face, a gentle caress. "I forgive you, Will. Will you forgive me?" And before Will can ask why, Hannibal's looking over Will's shoulder, moving his hands to turn Will where he stands.

"Abigail."

_Abigail_

Will turns and she's there and she's _alive_ and he can hear the involuntary noise torn from his own throat, has stepped forward before he can stop himself, arms open in a gesture he's not sure will be welcome. She folds into him, her shoulders trembling, pressing her face against his shoulder and he's sure he's holding on too tight but he can't bring himself to care.

"You're supposed to be in your room." He hears Hannibal say, disapprovingly.

Will clutches her a little tighter, turns his head so he can meet Hannibal's eyes, "I- How-" he doesn't even know what he wants to ask, she's _alive_ , he thought he'd killed her and Hannibal steps a little closer, his hand heavy and warm on Will's shoulder.

"For you." He says, and there's so much under the surface. "The three of us. She was supposed to be a surprise." Hannibal directs his last words at Abigail who clutches a little tighter to Will's shirt, refusing to look up and Will laughs, hoarse and weak. There's nothing funny about this at all.

"Oh, I'm surprised." He says and presses a kiss to Abigail's hair.

*

Hannibal's next to him on the plane, eyes closed, but Will can tell he's not sleeping, his hypothesis proved as his eyes crack open, narrowed like a snake as the hostess holds the tray out to then, "Eau? Jus d'orange? Champagne?"

Hannibal takes a champagne, predictable as always, grimaces as he takes a sip. "Dreadful." He murmurs, lets his eyes slip closed.

Abigail is silent next to Will. She hasn't spoken a word at all, clinging quietly to Will's side. She slept in with him that last night at Hannibal's, that first night, burrowed close to his side, shaking. "Abigail," Will murmurs, putting his hand over hers. He can feel the minuscule tremors under her skin. They never really stop. "Would you like some orange juice?"

She shakes her head and the hostess smiles at her.

Will keeps his hand where it is, leans back against headrest and closes his eyes. He's got no way of contacting Jack, he's got no way or letting anyone know where he is or what he's doing.

Jack's alive. That's something. Perhaps that's enough.

The sun in high in the sky by the time they land, and it feels like they've been travelling for years instead of days. He's overtired, his fingers curled around Abigail's, Hannibal's hand solid and heavy on his shoulder.

This isn’t the plan at all. 

*

He knew, he knew, he knew, and Will doesn’t know _how_. 

The teacup shatters, and Will envisions picking up the pieces. He’s more careful this time, a third time stream that stretches further back. 

"A session, if you will." Hannibal says. He waits until Will is inside, wary of Hannibal's movements, keeping out of arm’s reach. Not that it matters. Will knows how fast he is. 

"I'm not going to hurt you, Will."

"How do I know that?"

"You were going to betray me."

"But I didn't." He hates the fact it sounds hopeful. He has no reason to hide what he planned. "You were going to kill me."

"It would have been necessary."

"Even Steven."

"You never killed Freddie Lounds."

A heartbeat of silence though there's no point in lying. "No.”

Hannibal pauses, staring at Will grim and knowing. “You will.”

*

Hannibal knew, he still knew and Will tries to think of where he went wrong, what gave him away.

Hannibal's study, the burning of the files, smoke billowing from the curling papers.

"These are your notes on me." Will says, glances up at where Hannibal's leaning over the balcony, staring down at Will for a moment like he's expecting a reaction, a beat that's a moment too long.

"So they are."

There was no change in Hannibal's behaviour, no give away, but there must've been something that happened.

He'd been for a walk with his dogs, he'd visited Alana. Gone to see Freddie.

Freddie.

Realisation unfolds in front of him like a paper crane, smoothing out so Will can see the big picture.

Her perfume, cloying and sweet and she's hugged him before he left, dismissive as always of Will's discomfort, squeezed the back of his neck with a warm palm. "Be careful." She'd said, whispering in his ear. "He's dangerous." Like Will didn't already know that.

Her perfume would cling to his shirt, faint enough that no one else would have been able to distinguish, but Hannibal's different. He'd gotten too close, he must've brushed by Hannibal enough that he'd caught the scent. They've been less than professional with personal boundaries, Will hadn't thought.

He needs to go back further.

He should have killed her.

*

He doesn't know what he's doing, there's a plan in place, traipsing around Wolf Trap, the snow crunching under his feet.

Randall Tier is butchered and filleted in the freezer, his skin split and re-stitched, ready for display and Freddie Lounds is going to be poking her nose where it doesn't belong.

He’s not going to be so generous this time.

*

"You can change, Will."

The timelines meld and split and re-meld and through it all, Will's become exactly what he tried to avoid.

"Don't fight it."

He's killed or a killer and Will genuinely can't tell what's worse. His hands shake, his voice catches in his throat. "-Please."

He knows, he knows, he knows. Will isn't the only one who can see the past and the present and the future and Hannibal stands between death and life, too still, too silent, waiting for Will to choose.

"You have to make a decision." He speaks calmly, and Will can't see, but he knows there's a knife in Hannibal's hands. Back to square one if he makes the wrong choice. The right choice. "No more climbing the walls." It’s an echo of words he’s heard before from Abigail, whispered hushed and quiet in the middle of the night, hidden away in the backstreets of a nameless city. 

 

She never sleeps alone. Will can’t make her start now, and he hates how easily Hannibal manipulates him.

“I know.” He says quietly, and he straightens his back and meets Hannibal’s eyes, knows Hannibal won’t settle for anything less. “I’ve made it.”

Hannibal smiles, pleased. “I’m glad.” 

*

**Author's Note:**

> This was a massive, massive complicated wreck of a story when I was writing it. It came close to hitting 10k before it became unmanageable and so it was cut to the bare bones. Hopefully it still makes sense - my head is so tangled in it, I can't tell. This was written post S2 (obviously) and I really want it out before s3 messes with it any more.


End file.
